


The Radio [Meeks + Pitts]

by flaming_homosexual



Series: Dead Poets One-Shots [2]
Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: 1950s, Asexual Character, Celebrations, Dancing, Demisexuality, Dorks in Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Injuries, Radio, Slow Dancing, Song: Love Me Tender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28119075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_homosexual/pseuds/flaming_homosexual
Summary: Meeks and Pitts work and finish their radio. During their celebration, an awfully romantic tune comes on, forcing them to confess some truths they’ve been dancing around for far too long.CW: Minor character injury, mentions of blood
Relationships: Steven Meeks & Gerard Pitts, Steven Meeks/Gerard Pitts
Series: Dead Poets One-Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059998
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	The Radio [Meeks + Pitts]

“Oh, shoot!” Meeks cried. Sparks flew from the mechanical device in his hands, consequentially burning his fingertips. The redhead rushed to his bathroom and grabbed the first-aid kit. A shimmering piece of metal had managed to scratch itself into the tip of his thumb. A small streak of blood ran down his finger.

Quickly, he grabbed a towel and applied as much pressure as his twig arms could give. Meeks shuffled through the box, eventually coming across a bandage. He quickly wrapped it around his finger, and secured it with another one for good measure.

The bell rang signaling dinner. Meeks pulled on his sweater vest, blazer, converse and pushed the radio prototype in his pocket in a messy whirlwind. He slammed his foot against the doorframe as he rushed his way from the dorms to the dining hall.

Practically hopping on one foot, Meeks joins the rest of the group. They’re all caught up in their boisterous conversation; they don’t notice the smallest of the group sneaking up to a chair and slink down silently. All but one, that is.

Gerard Pitts sat at the end of the table, no longer engrossed in his copy of _Giovanni’s Room_. His knees awkwardly press against the underside of the table, and the table slams down as Meeks plops next to him.

Meeks takes out the radio from his blazer pocket and immediately gets to work. He takes out a few tools and gets to work, completely ignoring when they called the boys up for dinner.

“Meeks?” Pitts clasped a large, bony hand on Meeks’s shoulder. “They just called us for food.”

The small ginger pulled out a pair of goggles and threw them over his glasses. “I’m not hungry.” He then started welding underneath the table.

Pitts looked down at his closest friend who was chewing his lip as his fingers fiddled with their invention. He smiled fondly watching as his fingers brushed delicately over the surface of their work. Pitts admired the way the dying sunlight caught on Meeks’s glasses and illuminated his tired, deep brown eyes. Pitts sighed, shaking himself off as he went to get dinner. 

Meeks continued to tinker with his radio prototype and didn’t notice Pitts’s return until a plate clattered in front of him. A steaming plate filled generously with spaghetti and meatballs laid in front of him, Pitts sitting to his side.

“Thank you.” Meeks smiled warmly. He took the fork in his left hand and continued to work with his right. 

Pitts started shoveling spaghetti in his mouth when Meeks groaned. He looked over and nearly laughed at Meeks’s sweater vest now covered in pasta and marinara sauce.

“Damn,” Meeks whispered, grabbing a napkin and frantically scraping the sauce off his vest—to no avail. He sighed, “That was my favorite sweater vest.”

Meeks shoved his vest to the side and continued working, ignoring his food. Pitts sighed; sometimes he wished his friend would take time for himself. He always worked himself to the bone and then some. Pitts sighed.

“Meeks, you need to eat.”

The redhead brushed him off, continuing to work.

“Meeks.”

Welding continued and sparks kept flying.

“Steven.”

The inventor’s hands stopped fiddling. Since he started sixth grade at Welton everyone had called him by his surname. Pitts had permission to call him Steven, but even then he did so rarely. It always rolled off his tongue so elegantly. Holding onto each syllable in Steven’s name with such grace and care. Electricity crackled in Meeks’ cheeks, and—as much as he tried to ignore it—he flushed nonetheless.

“Steve, look at me.”

Shit. Nicknames, Steven’s one weakness. Meeks pulled the goggles up in his nest of curly, bright red hair. He looked up, much less than usual since they were sitting, and met Pitts’s concerned gaze.

“You can stop working for fifteen minutes,” Pitts reassured him, putting an arm around Meeks’s shoulders and whispering to him. “The radio will still be there, Steve. Take a break; you need one.”

Meeks sighed; he knew Pitts was right. Pitts leaned over and grabbed the goggles off his friend’s forehead and slipped them into his blazer pocket. He took the radio prototype from Meeks’s lap and gently placed it on his own.

“Eat. This is our project,” Pitts smiled warmly, “I’ll work on it for now. Take care of yourself.”

Meeks’ heart nearly exploded. Whether it was Pitts’s sincere, sweet grin, or the adoration behind his eyes—Meeks couldn’t tell. What he knew was he was incredibly grateful. Perhaps even something more. He dug into the pasta, wincing slightly as his grip tightened on the utensil. Pitts glanced down, gasping.

“What happened to you?”

Meeks shrugged, “Piece of the radio scraped against me when I was working on it earlier.”

“You mean—into your finger?”

“It sounds so much worse when you put it that way.”

Pitts rolled his eyes and shook his head with a grin.

••••

The sun fell past the horizon before Meeks was even aware of it. The boys were huddled around various tables, working on several assignments given to them throughout the day. Meeks had been lucky enough to finish his work hours ago, and was once again laser-focused on Pitts’ and his passion project.

Meeks tweaked the piece that would receive the radio waves as Pitts worked on the mechanics and overall aesthetic of the machine. The two had become quite the team, and not just recently. Since they met in sixth grade Meeks and Pitts had been joined at the hip. They were quite the sight to see passing in the halls, especially as they grew older. Pitts grew all throughout his adolescence, ending up being a full foot taller than his best friend. Except for Pitts constantly torturing Meeks by using him as an armrest, he never seemed to mind.

As they worked in silence, Pitts tinkered with a couple more things and the makeshift radio hummed. The hums quickly became sharp, loud squeals of feedback. The other boys in the room added to the noise with their own groans. Pitts assured them it would be over soon, but if he was being honest he wasn’t sure of that.

The tone died down after a bit, and for a moment Meeks was almost certain he heard a few faint notes of a tune he recognized before the radio went back to a softer high-pitched tone. Charlie Dalton groaned, but the rest of the boys continued with their work.

Dr. Hager stepped into the room to inform everyone that it was time to turn in. His eyes land on the young inventive duo with a cocked brow. He scans the cone-shaped wiring in Meeks’ hand, the rest of the machine luckily sitting in Pitts’s lap.

“Is that a radio you have there, boys?”

“Not a radio, sir.” Meeks replied with a sly grin in his eyes that only Pitts could identify. “Radar.”

Meeks shrugged as the machine continued to whir. Dr. Hager let him off the hook and yelled back one last time for he and Pitts to turn in before stalking back to his room. There’s a yell for Dalton to put his roommate down before the door slams. Meeks and Pitts were in the clear.

“Come on,” Pitts pulled Meeks up by his hands. “We can work some more in our room.”

••••

After an unsuccessful night of tinkering the weekend had finally arrived. Pitts and Meeks managed to snag a few muffins before sneaking off to the rooftop to work on the radio in private. They raced up the stairs, Pitts winning by taking two at a time.

“That’s,” Meeks panted, smiling. “Not fair.”

They settled at the edge of the grayscale rooftop, Meeks getting to work immediately. Pitts relaxed against the rooftop’s edge, silently admiring the redhead out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help becoming entranced with his friend. Pitts couldn’t quite put his finger on what enthralled him with Meeks. It could be the way he bit his lip when concentrating, or how he always smiled the widest and applauded a bit louder than others when Pitts recited his poems in Keating’s class. Maybe it was just his intelligence, his passion, or maybe just the damned freckles scattered across his cheeks.

Pitts could never put his finger on when exactly he’d realized his affections for Meeks, he supposed they’d always been there. From the embarrassing fiasco of his first girlfriend in seventh grade, to realizing and accepting his demisexuality after Meeks came out as asexual. Having someone to talk to about that was...freeing to say the least. It certainly deepened their friendship to something more, but neither of them were willing to acknowledge it.

The screech of radio static knocks Pitts to his senses, refocusing on the contraption in Meeks’ grasp. The static breaks and whines, playing the tail end of Paul Anka’s “ _Put Your Head on My Shoulder_.” Meeks gasped, laughing with delight as the radio host started talking over-ecstatically about Anka’s hit song.

“We did it!” Meeks exclaimed, turning up the volume. “Radio free America!”

Meeks leapt to his feet, spinning in time to the catchy pop tune playing. His ginger bangs swirled, messily laying over his joyous eyes. Goddamn did he look angelic. Tentatively, he takes Meeks’s hand and spins them around one another, delightfully dancing and trying to ignore the tingling sensation moving from their intertwined hands to his cheeks.

The next song switched on, the quiet intro of Elvis Presley’s “ _Love Me Tender_ ” flowed through the air. Pitts and Meeks’ gazes locked on their hands, neither boy daring to pull away. The taller boy met Meeks’ eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly.

_Love me tender_

“May I have this dance?” Pitts asks in a faux posh accent.

_Love me sweet_

Meeks scoffed lightheartedly, “Dork.” He blushed, “Yes. Sounds good.”

Pitts, being the taller of the duo, laced his arm around Meeks’ waist, resting his hand on the small of his friend’s back. Such an oddly intimate gesture felt foreign yet oh so sweet. He felt Meeks run the hand not intertwined with his rest on his shoulder, soothingly running his thumb back and forth as they swayed to the tune.

_Never let me go_

Meeks leaned closer into Pitts’ gentle embrace, resting his forehead against his friend’s sweater-clad chest.

_You have made my life complete_

Pitts rested his cheek atop Meeks’ head, leading their swaying at a simple, sweet pace.

_And I love you so_

Once love was mentioned, Pitts stepped back, unsure of himself. Meeks looked up, cocking his head in concern.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, “Is this not okay? Sorry, I can just—”

Pitts shook his head, motioning wordlessly to the radio.

_Love me tender, love me true_

The realization hit Meeks hard. Pitts was saying he loved him, maybe even was in love with him. The thought of his feelings being reciprocated nearly overflowed Meeks’ heart with joy.

_All my dreams fulfill_

Meeks shook his head, “Why would I have a problem with that?”

Pitts choked, “What?”

_For my darling, I love you_

“You—” Meeks reached out, cradling Pitts’ hand in his own, “—You’re saying you-you love me, right?”

Pitts was frozen, unsure of how to respond. His gaze flicked between their hands and Meeks’ adoring, curious yet caring expression. Any words he tried to form died on his tongue because how could he express in such limited language how infinite his affections were?

_And I always will_

“Pittsie?”

The taller groaned, his face lighting in flames. He hid his face with the back of his right hand, turning away from Meeks but never letting go of him with his left. 

“Sorry,” Meeks fretted, “Too much?”

_Love me tender, love me long_

Pitts shook his head. Turning, he put his arms around Meeks’ waist and held him close. To Pitts’ joyous surprise, Meeks melted into his embrace, snaking his arms over Pitts’ and pulling him impossibly closer.

_Take me to your heart_

Pitts cupped Meeks’ cheek, reveling in the feeling of his soft skin.

_For it’s there that I belong_

“Gosh, you’re beautiful.” Meeks remarks wistfully, leaning his cheek into Pitts’ intimate touch. Pitts melts at the flattery, instinctively resting his forehead against Meeks’. They stand in silence, reveling in each other’s tender embrace.

_And we’ll never part_

“Steve?” Pitts whispered.

_Love me tender_

Meeks’ knees nearly buckled. “Yeah?”

_Love me true_

“Can,” Pitts swallowed some fear, “Can I kiss you?”

_All my dreams fulfill_

The ginger’s face tingled with a pink tint. “Yes. Absolutely. Please.”

Pitts leaned down, a few inches away from Meeks, calculating every motion he made. He hesitated, what if it wasn’t the right time? Meeks chuckled with a sly smile, standing on his toes and pulling Pitts down by his collar and kissed him. It was closed mouthed, and maybe a little awkward by usual standards, but for the young inventors it was bliss. Sparks flew as Meeks adjusted, his hands stayed bunched in Pitts’ shirt collar. Pitts held Meeks upright with his hands on the ginger’s waist. Years of bottled up affections came pouring out at this moment. Everything from the unsaid whispered nothings to the time Pitts wanted to kiss Meeks senseless after he read his tear-jerking emotional poem surrounding his asexuality. All of it was thrown into this moment.

However, a moment is just that; a moment. Meeks pulled back, his blown-out pupils never straying from Pitts’.

_For my darling, I love you_

Meeks once again takes Pitts in his arms, burying his cheeks—reddened by the cold and quite possibly his affections—in his companion’s chest once more. Pitts took this opportunity to lay a gentle peck on the top of Meeks’ head, still swaying them gently from side to side.

_And I always will._


End file.
